


These Stones Should Have Stayed Unturned

by maleficentWatermelon



Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine
Genre: Gen, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-25
Updated: 2019-03-24
Packaged: 2019-12-07 04:36:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18229997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maleficentWatermelon/pseuds/maleficentWatermelon
Summary: Two ghost-hunters have no idea what they're in for. Switches perspective between the two, and sometimes other characters.





	These Stones Should Have Stayed Unturned

“George, I don’t know about this one…” He says, rubbing at his neck. You glance back at him, blinking. 

“You were nervous at that house last week, too, and that turned out fine. I bet there’s nothing even here, the only people who’ve said there was was kids, yeah? Probably just a hoax, or a prank, more like,” you say in a rush, trying to portray the picture of confidence and swagger. 

“Yeah, but look, George, it’s all a-rickety. Even if the place doesn’t have spooks at all, ain’tcha afraid of the floor fallin’ in?” You rake your gaze over the dilapidated front of Joey Drew Studio’s front porch for the fifth or sixth time in the last five minutes, biting at your lip. 

“Aw, shut your trap, Frank, alright? We’ll be fine. Besides, Martha knows we’re out here, and if we’re not back by morning, she’ll get help,” you say, cringing at the memory the statement draws up of the two of you on your first ghost-hunting trip, barely more than kids, at the old house at the end of the street. It was always a chore getting Frank to go with you on your excursions into the supernaturally active places within biking distance after that day- after all, it was he who ended up with a serious concussion, not you. 

The silence stretches on awkwardly a few more seconds after that, which you break by creaking the door to the studio open, shoulder pressed flat against it. Frank swallows behind you and you hear him climb the few steps up to where you are. You release the handle and step inside, marvelling at the fairly well-preserved posters clinging to the wooden walls. Strangely enough, the power is on- you notice this after an almost embarrassingly long time. Makes you wonder if the studio is self-sufficient, power-wise, or if someone still uses it. You decide you don’t really like either option. 

A few more steps yields a sharp, screeching, two part creak that would have a lesser ghost-hunter jumping out of his own skin. One of the creaking noises is from your foot, and you can tell the board you’re resting most of your weight on has a little give to it. The other… you turn and regard your friend, who in turn is regarding the closed door, a shocked expression on his face.

“You okay, Frank?” you ask, sighing. Your friend could be quite the scaredy cat, sometimes. Afraid of his own shadow, usually. If you had more options, perhaps he wouldn’t be your companion on these little escapades, but alas, it’s you, Frank, and Martha against the world. Martha, who flat out refuses to accompany either of you on the grounds that it isn’t ladylike, and Frank, who more often than not forces you to cut the night short. You are snapped out of your ponderings, then.

“Uhhhhhhhhhhh…. I think so?”

“It’s a simple yes or no question, man.”

“No, I… yes! But, George, I really, really don’t like this! That door, there, that door just went and shut all by itself!” Excitement flutters through your veins, then, lights up you attitude like fireworks on Independence Day. 

“Really? Here, let me see…” You practically dance over to the doorknob, and try it. It doesn’t spin nearly as far as earlier, and the door doesn’t open despite your best efforts. “It’s locked!” you say, barely concealing a laugh born of childish glee.

“Uhhh…. George, don’t you think we should be worried, now? Ain’t you scared, just a touch? I know you ain’t no chicken, but this means we’re trapped, don’t it?” he says, scratching his neck again. Your excitement turns to anger quicker than the sun melts frost on the grass in the morning, perfect crystals ruined. Can’t he just be excited for you? When you’ve just witnessed your first evidence of a ghost, personally? You huff and turn around, avoiding the creaky board as you pass out of the hallway. You are determined to have a good time on your first REAL ghost-hunt.


End file.
